


in my head, i'm yours

by pasdecoeur



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (oh my god they were BUNKMATES.), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, LORD. the PINING., M/M, Mutual Pining, and then they were bunkmates, just..... gratuitous sex. that's all this is now ahah fuck me, they're married as FUCK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdecoeur/pseuds/pasdecoeur
Summary: [POST-TLJ, follows through the events of TROS.]The bunk is narrow, and neither Finn nor Poe are built what you might call a conservative scale. They survey the space critically.“Well,” Finn says.“This is going to be interesting,” Poe agrees. “Do you know any handy ways to break the laws of physics?”“We could cuddle?” Finn suggests.Ah. That works.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 49
Kudos: 556





	1. Chapter 1

“You need to sleep,” Finn’s telling Rey again. It’s no point. Poe can see it in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders, tense and high. She’s too wired to sleep, even if she desperately needs it. The battle’s not over, in her head. She’ll crash later, Poe knows that from cruel experience. “Seriously,” Finn’s saying, “You need—”

“Hey, Finn,” Poe yells from the cockpit, “come gimme a hand here.”

“You’ve got Chewie,” Finn replies, the shit.

“Chewie needs his beauty sleep, precious. Get off your lazy ass and—”

“ _Lazy?!_ ” Finn demands, bouncing out of his seat with predictable indignation. “I beg your _pardon_ ,” he snarls, practically vaulting into the copilot’s seat with flashy, over-the-top athleticism, and Poe absolutely doesn’t watch him out of the corner of his eye, “if you think _I’m_ lazy, what does that make _you?”_

“Sloth-like,” Poe replies easily, “but a very pretty sloth.” He half-turns to Finn, and flashes him a slow, deliberate smile, one that he discovered during his Academy years, and then was perfected while recruiting for the Resistance. 

He expects Finn to roll his eyes, like Leia and Jess always do. 

But Finn goes quiet, and blinks a little, and then turns back to his flight controls, curiously silent. Poe watches Finn, watches the side of his face, the serious, lovely lines of his face, feeling a little stunned. Something hot tightens in his chest. 

  
  
  


Rey does crash, eventually, like Poe knew she would. Chewie lets her nap against his back like the world’s biggest, hairiest, smelliest pillow. If it wasn’t so sad, it would probably be sweet.

  
  
  
  


“She’s out,” Poe murmurs. They’re laying a trail of misdirection, before they reach the edges of the Outer Rim, bouncing off of satellites and holonet servers, burning fuel as close to the tank as they can. “You should get some shut-eye too.”

Finn glances at him. “You’re not looking too hot yourself, Sloth-boy,” comes the dry reply.

“ _Sloth-b_ — For the love of— Is this going to be a _thing,_ now?”

“I don’t know, man, I’m not the one with the furry fetish,” Finn murmurs with a lazy shrug, eyes glittering with mirth, and it’s like looking into the sun. Poe can feel the corners of his eyes crinkle; he wants to smile back too, despite everything, despite the awful taste in his mouth, the vast empty boulder of nothing sitting in his chest. He wants to laugh, but he’s too afraid to do that — if he laughs, he might start to cry.

“Oh, get out of here, both of you,” cuts in a dry, fond voice, and they look up to see the General, a bleary-eyed Rose Tico at attention behind her, and immediately hop to attention.

“Ma’am,” Poe manages.

“I understand there’s a bunk free. You don’t mind sharing, do you?” the General asks.

Poe feels his throat scorch dry.

“Of course not, ma’am,” Finn says, because he’s a massive asskisser. Do they _teach_ Bootlicking 101 in Stormtrooper preschool? God, they probably do. “Thank you, ma’am,” Finn is continuing. “But we don’t mind staying on longer if you—”

“Oh, will you be _quiet,_ ” Poe grouches, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, and hauls him bodily out of the cockpit. 

  
  
  
  
  


The bunk is narrow, and neither Finn nor Poe are built what you might call a conservative scale. They survey the space critically. 

“Well,” Finn says. 

“This is going to be interesting,” Poe agrees. “Do you know any handy ways to break the laws of physics?”

“We could cuddle?” Finn suggests.

Ah. That works.

  
  
  
  
  


So that’s what they do. 

And then that’s what they _keep_ doing.

Poe doesn’t mean to establish precedent, but the places they hole up in, the first few weeks after Crait, are cramped and inhospitable, and not exactly spacious. Sleeping happens in shifts, and they take turns to stand guard, and Poe’s not sure who came up with the duty roster, but Finn and Poe seem to be thrown together at every second of the day. 

It’s not like he _minds_ — they bicker, and fight, jockey like little kids for the best lookout spot. 

Finn’s got a sweet tooth the size of a planet, and Poe learns to push his dessert rations away, because that’s the only way Finn will steal them out of his plate, and his face will bliss out, and that feels nice. 

Poe likes it when they go to cool, mountain planets, Finn likes the warm, sticky, humid ones. 

Poe isn’t a morning person, but Finn is up at sunrise, no matter what godless hellhole they’re stuck in. Poe isn’t sure when it starts, but he gets used to finding a thermos of caf jammed into a nook above their bunk. 

(Poe gets used to calling it ‘their bunk.’)

((He catches a funny look from Rey the first time he calls it that, in a conversation with Finn — “Why do _I_ always have to be the one who makes our bunk? What am I, your wife?!” — and pretends not to notice.))

Poe hogs the blankets; Finn’s feet are blocks of ice under the covers. 

(He buys Finn a pair of soft, fuzzy grey socks on Ortolam — “For _my_ protection, I thought my balls were going to retract into my fucking oesophagus last night,” he makes sure to point out, but Finn’s face does that awful, soft thing again, all happy and sunshiny and _shy,_ and Poe hates the hungry clench of his heart.)

They learn each other. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Afterwards, Poe could never figure out what it was that wakes him up. A nightmare, maybe, but he drifts out of sleep slowly. He’s warm, and Finn is solid and heavy at his side. Something about his breathing tells Poe he’s awake too. 

They lay like that, in the almost black darkness of the Falcon. Indicator lights blink on the console. A pipe hisses somewhere far below. The emergency lighting strips on the floor glow faintly in the light of the two moons. 

“Do you think she made a mistake?” Poe asks. Whispers. It feels wrong, somehow, to break the deep and still silence of the night. “Making me her second?”

“In my experience, General Leia doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

Something about that rings true — if Finn had said _‘You make a great general!’_ or _‘I have loads of faith in you, buddy! Pal! Buckaroo!’_ it would have rung false. But Finn’s unshakable faith in Leia is comforting and honest — it's how Poe feels about her too, and he can believe in believing in Leia Organa. 

“No, she doesn't,” he replies, quietly, gratefully. His eyes shut. “I just… I just… God, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, Finn.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. No excuses. No _you didn’t._ There are no platitudes, no easy forgiveness, and it’s like a cool balm applied to rotting, infected wound of his guilt. 

But he turns towards Poe, tugs so they’re both on their side, so Finn is curled up behind him, so there is a warm, solid chest to his back, and the arm over his heart is stronger than iron. He shakes and he breathes like he’s been running for years, and Finn is infallible, Finn is the sky above his head, and the earth beneath his feet, and he’s so young, and Poe shouldn’t be the one falling apart, Poe shouldn’t— he shouldn’t—

Poe doesn’t know when he sinks into a near-drugged, unyielding sleep again. 

  
  
  
  
  


Something is different the next night. 

Maybe it’s because they’re on a three-day mission on another planet, waiting to make contact with a Resistance-sympathetic parts supplier. Maybe it’s because they’re so far away from Ajan Kloss, that it makes it feel like nothing they do here matters, like this is a free pass, a get out of jail free chip. Maybe it’s just the jet lag. 

But they both wake up when it’s still dark out, and Poe is hard, aching, and there’s a warm body tucked against his, and in the first few seconds before the last dregs of sleep fade away, he reacts on instinct, rocking forward, gripping tighter, groaning against soft, sleep-warm skin. 

The next second, he’s fully, excruciatingly awake, and the anonymous body beside his is Finn’s, and he’s trying to scramble back as best as he can, in the space between Finn, and the bulkhead behind him. 

“Shit,” he whispers. “Sorry. I was…”

Finn looks up at him, his eyes luminous, his mouth soft. “Why’re you stopping?” he asks. “Don’t stop.”

His heart is pounding. It’s in his throat, in his belly, in his shaking fingertips. He finds Finn’s shirt has ridden up, and he slides his hand underneath, finding smooth skin, the shift of those hard, beautiful muscles underneath and his fingers curl in tighter, hungry. He shifts, the throbbing bulge of his cock finding the hollow bee of Finn’s hips, skimming the broad, beautiful lines of his shoulder, the straining tendons of his neck. He can feel Finn now, hard against his hip, the slow grind as their cocks slot together, and it makes white scatter across his eyelids. He shuts his eyes, groans softly, and Finn grips his neck, twists clever, mobile hands into his hair, _tugs._ It pulls another hungry sound of his throat, and Poe works at their trousers, zippers and buckled shoved away, and then Finn’s cock is in his hand, long, and heavy, so fucking hot, a live wire of steel, and he fucks against with no fear at all. 

“Oh _fuck,”_ he whispers, and Finn is gripping his ass, moving him, rolling his hips underneath, and it’s _doing_ things, doing all kinds of things to him, and he kisses the soft skin just behind Finn’s ear, kisses the hinge of his jaw, kisses every patch of lovely skin he can find, while their fucking grows harder and fiercer, and Finn is staying his name, gasping it, like he can’t get enough.

“You’ve— oh _goddamn_ — You’ve done this before,” Poe gasps. Finn has found that spot, at the base of his throat, his tongue licking a warm wet stripe, and Poe tenses, taut as a bowstring, before his breath whooshes out in a shaky exhale. 

“Uh-huh,” Finn mumbles. 

Finn strokes the crease of his ass, and those beautiful fingers are finding the right picker of his ass now, stroking, pressing, gentle, insistent.

“You’ve done this a _lot,”_ Poe concludes, into the hot curve of his neck, trembling, his hand moving faster, stripping them hard and quick, precome slicking the way. He can feel it, the moment before Finn comes, the sharp inhale, the tightening of his whole gorgeous body, the soft breath on which Finn whispers his name. And then his hand is wrapped around his pulsing cock, covered in hot and wet, and his fist glides smoothly over his own cock, and that’s his come, he thinks dizzily, that’s Finn’s come, and somehow that’s unbelievably hot, and he’s searching, twisting, until Finn’s slack, gorgeous, gasping mouth is slotted against his, and he can kiss him, kiss him hungrily, angling his jaw and tongue-fucking his hot, yearning mouth, gripping the back of his head with his come-wet fingers, getting it everywhere, his own desperate cock fronting against the hard washboard of Finn’s abs. 

“Fuck,” he’s saying, over and over again, “oh god, oh fuck,” and Finn kisses him back, and that’s the end, that’s all she wrote, and Poe goes careening over the edge, coming so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t black out. 

“Fuckin’ _ow,”_ Finn mumbles, a little later. 

“ _What._ ”

“Is, like, your whole body lying directly on my spleen?” Finn grouses. “Do you somehow increase in mass four seconds after achieving orgasm?”

“Are you calling me _fat?”_ Poe asks dangerously, pushing down even harder on the bastard’s spleen. “What do you even know about achieving orgasm anyway,” he mutters, a little more ineffectually. 

Finn smirks. Even in the dimness of the cabin, Poe can tell that much. “Quite a bit.”

“So they, uh, let you, did they? When you were… I mean…”

“You can _say_ it,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Stormtroopers are allowed to have sex, you lunatic. Did you think we all were virgins?”

“Well, I mean… Kylo Ren, you know.”

Finn snickers. “No, yeah, _he’s_ never seen anybody else naked except on a holovid, that’s for sure.”

Poe grins. And then it dies away. “So you… I mean, with other stormtroopers?”

“Sure, sure.”

“For, like…? Stress relief?” Poe asks tentatively. 

The cabin is quiet. For a second, he wonders if he asked the wrong thing. If he asked it the wrong way. If, if, if. But then Finn shrugs — he can feel it, against his chest. “Yeah,” Finn replies, and Poe breathes out. 

That’s all this was. Stress relief. 

That’s a good thing, he tells himself firmly. No guilt, no pressure, no expectations. It’s just stress relief. 

(The thing in his chest has sprouted fangs and claws; it rakes against his ribs and rattles the bars of its cage, yearning to be free.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


So that’s the story of how Poe Dameron, former Academy fuck up, turned spice runner, turned wanted fugitive, turned freedom fighter, turned Resistance leader, accidentally on purpose hooked up with his best friend and then _didn’t_ get immmediately sent to hell. 

He isn’t sure if what they did was a one-off, but the next night, when they’re due to leave for home base, Finn turns to him, and says ‘Hey,’ and he says ‘Hey’ back, and they spend a little time staring very stupidly at each other, before Poe has had _enough_ , he just _wants,_ and if Finn doesn’t, well, that’s what you get two whole fists for — for punching people who kiss you when you don’t want them to. 

But the punch never comes; instead, Finn makes some sweet broken sound into his mouth, and touches his face, strokes his jaw, kisses him deeper and harder, like he wants to lick the taste of him right out of his throat. And Poe thinks _yes_ and _you_ and _always._

Forty minutes later, Finn’s head is cradled on his stomach, trying to catch his breath, and Poe stares up at the bulkhead, and thinks _oh fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so its not just two chapters any more ._. and it's a LOT smuttier than i intended jeeeeeezus ._________.

The supply run is a roaring success — Poe and Finn manage to get their hands on food too. For once, dinner can be not foraged nuts and berries, and wild game, but real _food_ : great big slabs of meat the size of a speeder, smoky and marbled with fat. Casks of Corellian ale and moonshine from some shady spice trader. Rich warm loaves of _real_ bread too, and salty crumbly cheeses. Bars of wrapped chocolate, little tins of jellied fruit. Delicate bottles of Elderfruit wine. 

Poe helps gets the cooks together, set up an assembly line, passing of bottles of tsikiri, while the comms array is commandeered to blast music all through the jungle. 

For once, there’s laughter on the base, and music, and everyone’s belly is full. Leia and Rey are like little beacons of sunlight, as they weave and drift through the throngs of new recruits, all of them hopelessly in awe. Poe watches them, his heart warm and full of fondness, and his eyes scan the crowd, until, like lodestones, they find Finn. 

He’s talking to someone, head bent down, a smile on his face. The crowd shifts, the light changes, and Poe recognizes Tico, her eyes crinkled up like she’s laughing too. He recognizes that look in her eyes. _Love love love._ He’s seen it in the mirror. Her hand is on Finn’s arm, Poe can see that now. Finn turns it, gently, playfully, until their hands are clasped together. 

Poe watches her hand for a long moment. He turns back around to the makeshift bar. Takes a draught of his ale. They kissed, didn’t they? On Crait. Someone mentioned it to him — had it been Jess? He can’t recall. They had kissed. 

He shuts his eyes. The pain in his chest is indescribable. Agonizing. It’s easier than he could have imagined, to walk out of that place, to walk all the way back to the Falcon, to an empty bunk. 

Generals don’t have the luxury of falling in love, Poe reminds himself with a strange detachment — you’d think watching Han and Leia would have taught him _that_ lesson.

  
  
  
  
  


Finn finds him in the cockpit, in the pilot’s chair where he fell asleep, cradling an empty bottle of tsikiri to his chest like a baby with a stuffed toy. 

“Hey,” Finn says, grabbing his shoulder, shaking him awake. “Get up, you idiot. What the hell are you— You’re going to sprain your bloody neck, come on.”

“Finn,” Poe mumbles. And then, “Finn?”

“Yeah, c’mon, let's get you to bed, _love of God_ , Dameron, how are you so—”

“What are you doing here?”

Finn hauls him up. “I’m… going to bed?”

“But— but— Tico was at the party. And Rey.”

“Yeah?” Finn replies. “They both wondered where you’d gone off to, by the way,” he continues, a strange look passing over his face. “I figured you were with— Have you been _here_ all night?”

Poe shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. It sounds sort of pathetic, doesn’t it? He never used to be like this. He thrived in crowds. “They— The crew, they can’t really cut loose if I’m hanging about,” he says, because it sounds less pathetic than, _I couldn’t watch you and Tico dance around each other._

Finn’s whole face softens at once. “Oh,” he says. “I thought you…” He shakes his head, smiling softly now. “Never mind. Feet steady?”

“Yeah,” Poe replies, and they’re so close now, his side pressed up against Finn’s chest, so he can feel the thump of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing. “Yeah,” he says again, and it’s so easy to curve a hand around the base of his skull, to tug him close. Finn bends easily, dark eyes falling shut, their mouths fitting perfectly, lips turned malleable and warm on all that good ale, and they’re kissing. Poe groans into the feeling, the desperate rush of relief — Finn tastes like no one but himself, and Poe kisses him harder, deeper, wanting more of that delicious taste, and when he moans, Poe pulls away, kisses the long line of his throat, the place where his skin vibrates with every fresh sound. He can feel Finn’s hands curling, bruising, digging into the curve of his ass, and it feels so good, it feels so— “ _Fuck_ ,” Finn’s whispering, “you feel so _good,_ ” and then he’s being slammed into a wall, and his shirt’s buttons are pinging off of bulkheads, and there’s a hand working his cock over the cotton of his trousers, and Poe is gasping, arching into that firm heavy touch, and saying, “Hey, I was— _Fuck_ , would you just— I was thinking, do you maybe want to fuck me?”

The hand on his dick stops, and in the dim grey light filtering into the Falcon’s cabin, Poe can make out Finn’s slow, dawning blink. When he speaks, his voice is even lower than usual, brandy trickling over gravel, warm and heady: “You want that?” Finn asks, cautious, hesitant, and _yes,_ he replies, _god yes,_ falling back onto the bunk, Finn’s weight collapsing on top of him, kissing against hungrily, furiously, while those big hands wipe every rational thought in his brain. 

“Do you have anything?” Finn asks, whispered, and yes, Poe lurches out of bed, rummages in his pack, coming up victorious with a bottle of lube, and Finn grins at him, fond and wide, uncomplicatedly happy. 

It’s a smile he _has_ to kiss, tugging off clothes in the tiny space, bumping elbows and knees, laughing, like it’s almost too much joy to fit into the tiny space.

He pops off the cap and squeezes some lube onto his fingers, before reaching back around to—

“Don’t you want me to do that?” Finn asks, and he stops. 

“Uh.” Finn’s hands, holding him down, spreading him open. That quiet, intense look he gets on his face, when faced with something new. Long, clever fingers, spreading him open, fucking into him, holding him on the edge— his cock throbs desperately, and Poe squeezes at the base with his other hand, shutting his eyes. “You don’t— It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“I’d— I’d like to,” Finn admits, so softly, like he— like he feels _guilty_ for wanting to, and that Spears him even deeper, and Poe shoved the line at him, says, _okay okay, sure, anything you want, anything._

Finn is hesitant. “I’ve never done this before.” He’s kneeling on the other end of the bunk. Poe has one knee pulled up, the other leg dangling off the bunk. There _really_ isn’t enough space for any of this. 

“You’re a quick study,” Poe murmurs, and then sucks in an unsteady breath when he finds a lubed up finger gently circling at his hole. He has no idea when Finn even _got_ the lube. “A _very_ quick study,” he amends breathlessly, when that finger pushes a little bit inside. 

“Deeper,” he says. “I can take it.”

Finn’s other hand is clamped on his thigh now, his breathing hard, his cock a dark erect line, the head brushing against his abs, his thighs, when he hunches over, smearing lines of wetness. His middle finger slides in all the way to the hilt, and Poe shuts his eyes, trembling. He forgot what it felt like.

“You okay?” Finn asks, hands stroking his sides, his arm, his face. “Hey, talk to me.”

“I’m— _yes_ , it’s just been a while— I, bend your, your finger, just a little, oh _fuck_ ,” he nearly shouts, his whole spine curving off the bunk while his cock throbs and spirits more precome. 

“Fucking _hell,”_ Finn growls, and the voice is so close, right next to his ear, “how are you so _hot,_ ” and then one finger becomes two, and a mouth clamps over the pulse in his throat, and Finn is fucking him, with those two clever, knowing fingers, dragging mercilessly against his prostate, his teeth on his neck, and he’s shaking, writhing, bucking into that hard, gorgeous body above him, gripping his shoulders, their cocks grinding and bumping together. 

“Come _on,”_ Poe manages to grit out, “that’s _enough_ , that’s fine, come _on,_ I want you _inside_ me.” 

There is that gaping sense of loss, when Finn pulls out, and then he's wrapping his lube wet hand around his cock, slicking up the whole hard length, and _god,_ he's— stunning. Poe turns over, jams the solitary pillow under his hips, the fabric rough and somehow _perfect_ against his cock. He can't stop breathing hard, not when Finn shifts closer, when the thick, mushroom head of his dick presses against the wet, open pucker of his hole. 

Finn's rubbing his thigh, his side, a thumb brushing the cleft of his ass, murmuring, “Gotta relax for me, beautiful,” and it's that word, it's the ease of that word, coming from his mouth, and Poe just— gives in, sinks into the thin mattress, and the head of Finn’s cock slips in with another push. 

“This okay?” Finn asks gently. 

Poe nods against the pillow. It _has_ been a while — Poe has forgotten how this could feel, like a pressure all deep down to his throat. “I can take more,” he says and Finn pulls back a half inch, and then sinks deeper. Poe’s mouth falls open at the stretch, the burn. He can't hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat, can barely feel the soft brush of Finn’s mouth on his shoulders, his spine. All of the world had narrowed to the single burning point of that massive cock, splitting him open. He breathes hard, and Finn strokes his sides, pushing and pullling. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it, you’re so good, you’re doing so good,” words of praise, words of admiration, how tight he was, how hot he felt, how beautifully he took Finn’s cock. And all Poe can do was lie there, and let himself get fucked slow and hard and deep, air pushing out of his lungs with every thrust, nebulae shattering behind his eyes every time that big cock just rubs against his prostate. 

It's like a slow acceleration into hyperspace — like he can see the light banding and stretching, behind his eyelids, coronas and starbursts. 

“Harder,” he begs when he can't take it anymore, “please, god, harder,” and Finn complies, Finn just _gives_ it to him, hands gripping his ass, firm and sure, jackhammering into his goddamn prostate. When he comes, Poe shouts his orgasm, _obliterated_ , snapping a hand back to grab Finn's bare ass, to hold his cock _there, right there,_ root it in place as he _squeezes,_ spurting cum like a fucking geyser. 

Finn trembles, pulling out still hard, cock still slick with lube, and Poe can feel his limbs being rearranged, his thighs pulled together, cock sliding in between the densely packed muscle of his quads, and “Yeah?” he asks muzzily, “that what you need, babe?” still riding out the afterglow. 

“ _Poe_ ,” Finn whispered, and his voice was a broken river of glass, “ _Poe,”_ like a prayer, and so he tightens his thighs, and then Finn is fucking that tight hot space, cock dragging against soft, thin skin, bumping into his sac, shaking when he comes too, whispering Poe’s name like he won't ever get enough, won't ever be done. 

  
  
  
  


They shifts sometime during the night, when it gets cold enough. Poe isn't sure who wakes up first, only that they both realize together the need to put on pants and pull the covers up. When their eyes meet, they're both grinning shyly, like they haven't just come their brains out, like the Falcon doesn't stink of sweat and sex. 

Poe tosses the sticky pillow overboard, and Finn shifts to slot himself all along his back. His lips brush the back of Poe’s neck, and the touch is electric, is stunning; he feels it shock his spine, and rush to his fingertips. He stops breathing, and Finn does it again, and again, one arm around his middle, the hand lying lightly over his thundering heart. 

Poe grips that hand, lacing their fingers together, and feels Finn curl impossible closer. And for a moment, it is easy to pretend that they are, the both of them, just as desperately in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked it, remember to hit kudos <3 and as always, thanks for reading!
> 
> (Where did chapter 3 go?! you might ask. I had to delete it, is the answer. I uploaded the wrong shitty awful version of the story, bc i have a critical case of dumb bitch disease! the new one will be up soonish xx)


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